


i don’t think i can stand to be where you don’t see me

by livhasnolife



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, i have no idea where this takes place in canon, idk what to tell you this is just really fucking soft, post s15 kind of ????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livhasnolife/pseuds/livhasnolife
Summary: It’s no secret that Grif doesn’t know how to land any form of aircraft, so really, this isn’t his fault. This is common knowledge and Simmons knew what to expect, so if he was really opposed to it, he should have stopped him.So crashing it? Simmons’ fault. And crashing it into a ditch? The ditch’s fault, obviously.





	i don’t think i can stand to be where you don’t see me

“How the fuck are we supposed to get out of here?” It’s the first thing Simmons says when he leaves the crashed aircraft, because of course it is. He’s taken in their surroundings - maybe not fully, but the high walls of rock surrounding them are pretty easy to notice, - and he’s already taken to bitching Grif out about it.

Grif snorts, already making himself comfortable on a nearby rock. “Why do you think I’d have an answer? If I knew how to get myself out of my own messes, I wouldn’t be anywhere near here.”

Simmons sighs, “Yeah, I should’ve figured.” He then goes about fumbling with his comms. “Hello? Red Team? Anyone?”

They were on the run - pirates or something, Grif wasn’t really paying attention, - and Carolina made the consecutive decision that they needed to split up to stay safe. Of course, Grif ended up with Simmons. It’s always Simmons.

“Hellooooo?” Simmons continues, but nothing but static greets him. Grif watches his shoulders slump, and it’s far too familiar. He wants to ease the tension there like the ocean wiping away old sand. Grif quickly pulls his eyes away as Simmons plops down beside him on his mossy rock and pretends he doesn’t understand why he’s flustered. “I think we’re out of range from wherever everyone else is. We’re just lucky we’re in a place with open sky so we can reach them unobstructed if they come close enough.”

“Yep, that’s just peachy, Simmons,” Grif snarks.

“Hey, you’re the one who can’t fly for shit,” Simmons crosses his arms, and Grif can’t see his face because of their helmets, but he has a feeling he’s smiling. Grif is.

“My flying is _fine_ , excuse you. At least I had a car license back on Earth,” he prods. It’s good-natured now, and it’s _familiar_ , the kind that makes you feel like things are right. Like everything has clicked back into place. He missed it. He felt like he was going insane when he was alone on the moon. 

Simmons scoffs, which, rude. “Flying skills mean nothing if you can’t even land, idiot.” he pauses, “Also? Low blow, man. You _know_ I do awful under pressure! I knew the manual inside out, but the stress of the real test was too much.” 

Grif raises his hands in surrender. “My bad, Expert Driver, I’ll never bring it up again.”

Simmons seems content with this, because it’s where the topic ends. He adjusts his seating position, unwittingly making him sit closer to Grif. 

He’s observing their surroundings. Grif is observing him. 

Like a creep.

He looks away.

At least the ditch isn’t cramped by any means. It’s a wide open space encircled by tall, peaking cliffs. It’s grassy and there’s lots of flora and rocks. It’s boring, but it could be worse. They could be stranded in a random hole, or a desert, or daresay… A cave.

Grif shivers. It certainly is better than it could be.

Simmons comms crackle to life once more. “Hello? Anyone?” he calls. Grif groans.

This is gonna be a long wait.

-

“I’m bored. And hot. Why is it so hot?” Grif says, a reiteration of the same thing he’s been complaining about for probably 30 minutes now. He’s laying on the grass beside the rock, a symbol that time, indeed, has passed. Slowly. Very slowly. Too slowly.

“Because we’re in Hell,” Simmons grumbles from the rock, toeing Grif’s face with his foot.

Grif debates it for a few moments before agreeing, “Yeah. That sounds about right. I’m always in Hell when I’m stuck with you.”

“Oh, joy, I’m not the only one suffering,” he replies dryly. 

There’s a moment of quiet. If it wasn’t so hot Grif would fall asleep right there on the ground, probably. His hair is pressed uncomfortably against his forehead with sweat. Maybe he should take his helmet off.

He starts doing just that when Simmons speaks up, “Wait, stop,” he says, and Grif, despite wanting to defy Simmons to get a rise out of him, hesitates. When Simmons sees that, he continues, “We’ve never been to this planet before. We don’t actually know if there’s a breathable atmosphere.”

“All the more reason to remove my helmet,” Grif replies, grinning.

Simmons just shakes his head. “You’re too much.” But his voice is soft.

_Maybe_ , he thinks, and the conversation drifts away like the clouds above him.

-

“Hey,” Grif starts, still on the ground in his exact same spot. Simmons has wandered farther away- investigating the terrain, he thinks. He hears him though, because he calls back with a ‘what?’.

“Finding anything?” he yells, craning his neck a little, but not sitting up.

“No,” Simmons calls back, sounding a little disappointed. “But I’m not quite done y–”

“Come cloudgaze with me.”

“No,” Simmons responds loudly and immediately. “You might be a lazy ass, but I’m not, thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon Simms! There’s nothing else that’s gonna help here.” 

When Simmons doesn’t immediately respond, Grif knows he’s won.

“No cloudgazing,” Simmons says, awfully disappointingly, and takes his place back on the rock. He nudges Grif’s elbow, and while Grif isn’t fast, he is determined. He grabs Simmons’ ankle and yanks.

“Asshole!” Simmons exclaims, voice high and pitchy. He ends up half on top of Grif, hands splayed at weird angles and legs dangling, and Grif starts laughing and can’t stop.

And then Simmons joins in and it’s all downhill from there.

-

“That’s you,” Grif says, pointing at a distant cloud. Simmons shoves him. “What? It’s not an _ugly_ cloud or anything.”

“I can tell it’s a backhanded insult.” 

“No it’s not,” Grif lies. Simmons looks at him. “Don’t make that face at me.”

“You literally can’t see what kind of face I’m making,” Simmons points out.

“I can tell. You’re making that one face where your eyebrows pinch together and you look really disapproving.” He can imagine it in his brain vividly.

Simmons splutters indignantly, “Am not!” 

“Now you’re pouting,” Grif shares.

“Oh my _God_ , stop it. It’s creepy.”

Grif quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Ugh, fine, I can tell you just raised an eyebrow at me. This is weird. Why do we know this?”

“I wish I didn’t,” Grif groans, “I would have so much space in my brain for other things.” 

_We know so much about each other, why are you surprised? We’re partners,_ some part of Grif’s brain whispers. He stamps it out like a candle flame.

-

“This is Simmons of Red team. I repeat, Simmons of Red team.” 

Simmons is trying to contact them again, sitting criss-cross, just a few inches from Grif. It can’t be comfortable in his armor but it’s just like him. Grif’s still laying down, because, well, that’s who he is. 

Simmons sighs, defeated. He props his head up with a hand, which is a funny image. Almost elicits a laugh from Grif, but it doesn’t.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Simmons asks.

“Honestly?” Grif starts, looking at Simmons for permission to continue. He nods. “Considering our team of dumbasses, probably not.” Simmons deflates a bit more. “But they’ll find their way out of it, anyway. We always do.” 

Simmons is looking at him silently. Grif can’t read him.

“Thanks,” he says, small and almost.. fragile.

“Anytime, Simms.” 

And then his attention is drawn to the swaying grass, and his thoughts become a floating blur again. Simmons is oddly silent.

-

About a half an hour later, he cracks.

“I’m–” Simmons starts, cuts off. Takes a deep breath, restarts. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Grif looks at him questioningly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I mean– from– like, from Iris,” he stutters out, obviously feeling awkward. “I’m glad that you came back. Not only to, uh, save m- _us_ , but because I missed you.” 

Grif’s heart stutters in his chest. “Simmo–”

“Wait, sorry, I need to finish or I never will.” Grif nods. “It wasn’t the same without you. The team needs you. And you might– you might not need us back, but,” He sounds pained. Grif’s stomach feels like someone wrung it out like a rag. “I just need you to know that. In case you don’t, or some stupid shit. You have a thick skull sometimes, so I figured I needed to clarify.” 

Everything stops for a moment. The planet slows in its orbit around its suns. And then it all reboots, and Grif is back. 

He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so _bad_ , and he would - god, he would, - if they didn’t have helmets. Funny how that is. The one time Grif decides to stop being a coward, the universe has other ideas. 

Instead he wraps Simmons in a sudden hug that’s reciprocated surprisingly fast. They sit there for just a few seconds like that. “I missed you too,” he breathes.The tension in Simmons’ back releases. It’s clunky, and neither of them can really feel much aside from discomfort, but it’s all Grif’s ever wanted.

He decides they should move on before it becomes glaringly obvious. “Thanks, Dick,” he says rather loudly and relinquishes his hold.

“Nevermind, I take everything back. I wish that you had suffered severe injuries when we crashed.” 

Grif laughs, returning to his spot on the grass with a thump. 

-

The sky has changed. It looks like something straight out of a watercolor painting. Simmons is pressed against him on the ground, and even though Grif can’t really feel it, it makes his stomach churn red with the sky.

“Do you miss anything from Earth?” It is, surprisingly, Grif’s question. Something about the spanning sky– the grass that blows in the wind– the carelessness– makes nostalgia soak through to his bones the same way brush strokes of the first fading sun soak the sky. It activates the weird existential part of him. Reminds him of riding bikes with Kai around their town in the summer before watching the sunset, or fucking around at Blood Gulch, warthog music blasting and the wind whipping against his and Simmons’ faces in the afternoon heat. It pulls his voice out of him as easy as the breeze through clothes lines.

Simmons is considering it carefully- this much is obvious even if Grif can’t read his face. He knows him well enough. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I miss my mom a lot, among other things,” he admits meekly.

Grif snorts. “Mama’s boy,” he teases, jabbing a hand at Simmons’ stomach. 

“Shut up, shithead, as if you don’t have the biggest soft spot for Kai,” he retorts. It's so nice, Grif almost forgets they’re stuck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hate that bitch,” he says, and nods decisively.

Simmons actually lets out something close to a chuckle. “Pfft, yeah, right. Very convincing.”

“Oh, shut up. What were the other things?” he says, trying to veer the conversation back to the original subject. It works.

Simmons gives a contemplative hum. Grif wonders how it feels rattling around his chest, and then realizes that’s _really fucking weird, Grif, what the fuck, get it together_. “Um. Books. D&D. Video games.” All normal things, safe bets; things that most of them miss.

(except for the d&d thing, what a fucking nerd)

(a nerd that grif is hopelessly gone for, what the fuck)

“Peaches,” he adds after a few seconds.

“Peaches?” Grif questions, quirking an eyebrow. That’s something he hadn’t expected.

Simmons nods beside him, helmet digging into the ground– the Earth– the dirt and the grass and the _life_ – just slightly. “Yeah. I grew up in North Carolina before half of it sunk, and then we moved inland. Still the South, though, my dad was that kind of man.” _An outdated asshat_ , Grif thinks, right before Simmons finishes with, “A stubborn and unchanging piece of shit.” Only a little bit of malice poisons the end. Grif commends him for it. 

“Anyway,” Simmons continues, “We used to have a peach tree in our backyard in Tennessee. I have a lot of memories with it.”

Grif never wants to listen to anything. Why does he want to listen to Simmons? Why does he love the lilt of his voice so much?

They are questions that can be answered, but questions that shouldn’t be, for his sanity.

“Thanks for sharing,” he says, and it’s quiet. Soft, even. They’re so close. They don’t really do this. It obviously shocks Simmons, because he turns to look at Grif, and his mannerisms suggest he’s surprised. Grif changes course. “Your old man’s a shitbag.”

Simmons lets out a cold laugh, and it’s not what Grif wants, but it’s fitting and it’s life. “Tell me about it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Grif wishes he could smell the dirt and feel the grass beneath his back, feel the warmth from the body next to him, memorize what Simmons looks like in this lighting, but he contents himself with watching the sky bleed mango orange and pomegranate red instead.

“Do you miss anything?” Simmons asks.

“Rain,” Grif answers easily, “Except, like, the warm kind. That used to happen a lot in Hawaii. I miss the beach too– didn’t think I would. Whenever Kai used to drag me there it always felt like such a nuisance,” he tells him. Simmons is smiling, Grif can tell. “There are other things, too. Those just some of the main ones.” He cracks his knuckles.

“I was going to say that was sweet but you ruined it. That was disgusting,” he says, and true to his word, sounds fully disgusted, but Grif just laughs to Simmons and the forever-sky.

Grif plows on. “I miss the language, too. I’m always worried I’m going to forget it when I’m away from Kai for too long.”

“You’re bilingual?” He sounds dumbfounded.

“Trilingual, actually,” he replies, and wishes, obviously not for the first time, that he could see the other boy’s face.

“When did _that_ happen? What language?!”

Grif can’t help his smile, wide and sappy. He’s grateful for his helmet. “I had a lot of extra time on Iris,” pause, “and, Spanish.”

“Oh my god,” he says, and he sounds almost winded; almost miserable.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised, is all. You should say something. In Hawaiian, too.” 

And how can Grif resist?

“Ko’u Aloha, eres lo peor.”

“Wh-Which one _was_ that?!” His voice is an octave too high, amazed and astonished and Grif really can’t help laughing.

“Both.”

“That’s unfair, there’s no way I would’ve been able to figure it out.”

“You wouldn’t be able to figure it out either way,” he points out. “You never have a single clue what Lopez is saying.”

“Lopez is different,” he groans.

“How so?”

“Just is.”

“Weak.”

“What does it mean? Please?” he asks.

“Nah, sorry. You’ll just have to learn them both yourself.”

“Oh my god, you’re insufferable. I hate you.”

“El sentimiento es mutuo.”

“Stop!”

Grif’s cackling could probably be heard from miles away.

-

“Do you miss when we used to be like this all the time? We just got to fuck around in Blood Gulch and spend thousands of hours talking, excluding some minor annoyances and conveniences,” Grif asks.

Simmons, from the rock, eyes on the sky, nods. “All the time. A surprising amount, really. Didn’t appreciate it ‘til it was gone.” And if he tilts his head to look straight at Grif and lets his eyes linger, that’s nothing Grif can confirm for sure. Helmets.

“I wish it could be like that again, sometimes. I also never want to go back to that at the same time though. Is that weird?”

“No, it’s not weird. I get it.”

“Hey, when this is all over–”

The radio gurgles and then focuses. A voice cuts through the static. “Simmons? Grif?” 

“Carolina!” They shout in unison.

“We’ve been trying to connect for _hours_. Can you send your coordinates please? We’ll come get you.”

Simmons does so. 

Grif feels something clutch at his stomach and he can’t tell if he’s hungry or if he just really doesn’t want this to end, for some odd reason.

“They’ll be at least another couple hours,” Simmons informs him.

He rips off his helmet. Simmons squawks in horror. He can feel the wind that blows through the weeds. It feels like summer. 

“Oh,” he says absently, the word soaked in wonder. “It’s nice.”

Simmons makes a strangled noise behind him.

-

Simmons refuses to take his helmet off until half an hour later. He was worried that Grif would be killed slowly at first, so continued to be overly cautious. What a baby.

(grif loves him just the same. loves him _for_ it because he loves simmons with all of his dumb caution and worries and weirdness. he loves simmons not despite it, but with it.)

By the time he does, the first sun has dipped fully below their line of vision, casting the sky a little less fiery, but still a sunset. Grif thinks, out of everywhere they’ve been, he likes this the most. Talking to Simmons for hours on a planet with eternal summers. It sounds oddly familiar in a way.

It’s simple, and yet, it’s all he really wants.

-

“Did you have a job in high school?” Grif is sitting up now so he can see Simmons better, one leg outstretched and one curled in close. Simmons on the rock is a stricken match. The light hits his hair in a way that makes him look like the sun and his eyes match the moss and he’s beautiful, even Grif doesn’t know how to explain it. He shouldn’t be but he is and he always has been. His lungs don’t know how to work.

Simmons groans. “I did, but I wish I didn’t. My dad thought it was important to teach me _responsibility_ or something, even though he was loaded.” 

“Fucking moron,” Grif says, then continues, “Where did you work?”

“Grocery store. Nothing exciting, just Hell.” He rests his head on his chin again, and the light falls just right for Grif to catch his freckles and the glint of metal on his cyborg parts. 

The image of Simmons in an apron is enough to make him smile. “You were probably such a fucking nerd in high school.”

Simmons rolls his eyes, mumbling, “Of course you’d immediately come to that assumption.” He gives away something in his tone that Grif immediately catches and latches onto. 

“Oh my god, did you have glasses? _Braces_?”

“It’s creepy how well you know me without knowing me,” Simmons reminds him.

He just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, which one?”

“I had braces for my entire high school career. My teeth were seriously fucked. I had to get them removed before joining the army, though. Something about liability.” He taps a finger against a cyborg part of his face before continuing. “I was just relieved to finally have an excuse to get rid of them.”

That shouldn’t be adorable. It is anyway though, because the universe doesn’t make sense. It hasn’t since Grif met Simmons in Basic. Maybe it never will again. 

If it means having Simmons, maybe he’s okay with that.

He wants to say, _I am hopelessly in love with you_ but instead, he says, “You’re such a lameass.”

“Like you’re any better. You were probably a hipster in high school.” His eyes narrow, analytical but still soft and fuck, no one’s eyes should be that green. That should be illegal. “Where did you work?”

“CD Store. I was a music geek back in high school,” Grif elaborates, though he doesn’t really need to.

“Oh my god! See! Hipster!” Simmons exclaims, and then, “Wait. _Was_?” Simmons’ look is disbelieving.

Grif barks out a laugh at that. “If you think I’m bad now, I’m glad you never knew me in high school. I was in an indie band and everything.”

“Oh my god,” Simmons says, wondered, like he’s receiving the best present. Like Grif means something. “Do you think Kai would have pictures?”

“She– Wait, I know what you’re doing, and I’m not falling for it.”

“Dammit,” he grumbles. Grif laughs again. Simmons’ mouth quirks up into a smile. His lips–

Nah, he’s not going there today.

“What instrument did you play?”

“Bass. Was pretty good at it, too, before all of this. Wanted to be a music major but I also wanted to provide for Kai.” He pauses, consideringly almost, “That’s mainly what the job was for.”

“Mainly?” Simmons asks, head tilting.

Grif nods, grinning now. “Yeah. I was also saving up for my neck tattoo.”

Simmons eyes go wider. Taking off the helmet was a good idea, he decides. “Fuck, I forgot about that!” 

Grif lifts up his hair to show it off, because _shit_ , he worked hard for this sucker. “Here she is.”

He ties his hair up for good before he releases his hands and Simmons face is beet red. He raises an eyebrow. “You okay, buddy?”

“Fine– Me. I fine. I mean– I’m fine. It’s pretty. Why that?”

Grif laughs and Simmons just looks more tortured, which just causes him to cackle more, which eventually causes Simmons to crack a small smile. “They’re my mom’s favorite and I used to suck at calling her. I was– am– angry with her, but I still… I still love her, you know? It helps a lot, now, to have around. A reminder that a piece of her is still with me. It would be more helpful if I wasn’t a dumbass and I had gotten it some place I could actually see it, though,” he laments, and then looks over. Simmons looks completely engaged and interested. Grif goes warm from the inside out, like a hot pocket in a microwave.

Or something more poet. Warm from the inside out like his feet sinking into the sand, or Kai holding his hand on her first day of Kindergarten, or his mom’s deep honey smooth voice. 

Home, he realizes distantly. Simmons reminds him of home.

“That’s… surprisingly sweet. We don’t talk about this stuff enough.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” _please get used to it. please ask more. let’s be saps all the time. there’s so much i want to know about you but i never know how to ask–_

Simmons nods, but his eyes are knowing and his smile is still wide.

-

The second sun is setting. The remnants of light are breathtaking.

“It really is a good view, isn’t it?” Simmons says, captured by the orange light in more ways than one.

Grif only has eyes for him. He works on burning the image of Simmons swathed in stardust and warmth into his mind, dedicates himself to memorizing his jawline and the golden streaks in parts of his hair. He swallows. “Sure is.”

-

The sun fades. Light remains. A few moons are out. Twilight is upon them. He really hopes that the team comes for them before nightfall. It’s peaceful now, sure, but night on a foreign planet doesn’t sound fun.

“Oh! Wanna know something else I miss?” Simmons asks.

“I’ll bite. What?”

“Fireflies. We had them back home.”

“Funny joke, Simms,” he teases goodnaturedly. “You won’t get me that easily.”

“....What do you mean?” Simmons asks, tone unreadable.

“Fireflies? Really, man? I’m dumb, but not that dumb.”

“Grif, what are you saying?”

“Stop with the prank, I caught you red handed. Admit it, Simms.” He gives a smug smile in his direction but finds that Simmons just looks astonished.

“Grif…. what do you think fireflies are?”

“Fictional bugs? Obviously.”

“You’re kidding,” Simmons decides.

“No?” His eyebrows pull together.

“Grif, fireflies are _real_ ,” Simmons says frantically. 

“Not buying it.” He shakes his head. “Their asses light up.”

“Well, technically, it’s actually the–”

“I don’t need the anatomy of a fake bug.”

“It’s literally real! Grif, what the fuck?!” he yells desperately.

Simmons is.. a terrible liar. Always has been. His face is actually distressed. Grif’s stomach does something weird. “Oh my god,” he breathes. “You’re not joking, are you.”

“No!”

“They’re… real? Fireflies are real?” Grif says with mounting urgency. “Oh my god! I never got to see one! This is bullshit!”

“If we ever go back to Earth I’ll show you,” Simmons promises.

“Oh.” His eyes widen. “I’d like that.”

Simmons smiles tentatively. Grif taps his ankle as an invite for him to lay beside him. Simmons makes himself comfortable in the grass. “This tickles,” he complains.

Grif sighs contentedly. “Feels nice.”

“You’re so weird,” Simmons comments. Grif nudges him with his elbow. 

“Not as weird as you.”

Simmons just shrugs. They look at each other for a few moments. Grif wants to reach out a hand. Wants to hold Simmons. Wants to learn more about him. It hurts. He loves him so much it scares him sometimes. 

He turns onto his back, away from Simmons dark eyes. He’s only so strong. “Well, at least I don’t have to have to worry about blowfish being real.”

Simmons drops his face into his hands with a wretched sound.

-

Looking up at the sky, Grif and one of this planet’s moons meet. It’s small and light blue, but it’s glowing so brightly even though the sky isn’t fully dark yet.

Warm from the inside out. He wonders if that is how the moon feels.

-

Grif doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have because the next thing he knows he’s being jolted back into consciousness by the sounds of their radios.

“Are you guys still alright?” Donut asks. 

Simmons has his head pressed to his chest and for a moment Grif wants to say fuck it, never answer and stay on this planet forever, but he doesn’t. He sits up without bothering to shake Simmons awake. He immediately bolts up after Grif jostles him from his spot anyway.

“I do not remember falling asleep,” he says. Grif nods his agreement.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Hellooooo?” Donut calls. Simmons scrambles to answer him, slipping his helmet back on.

“Yeah, we’re good, don’t worry.”

“Roger that, Simmons! We’ll take your word for it. Just wanted to give you the heads up that we’ll be there in about 15 minutes.”

“Thanks Donut.”

“No problemo!” There’s a pause. “That’s Spanish for no problem, if you didn’t know.” 

“I–” The radio clicks, and he’s gone. Simmons removes his helmet and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “I guess we should start getting ready.”

“Guess so,” Grif agrees.

Neither of them move.

“Do you need anything from the old ship?”

“Nope.”

Neither of them say anything else.

“Okay, well–”

“Hey, when this is all over–” They say at the same time.

“You go first,” Simmons insists. Grif obliges.

“When this is all over– if this is _ever_ over– do you want to..” His throat lodges up. He squeezes his hands together, once; twice. “Would you want to come with me to Honolulu? Just for a visit. I would just– I’d love to– Ugh, I don’t know. I–”

“Yes,” Simmons blurts, eyes wide and surprised. When Grif looks at him in amazement, he turns red and looks away. “I’d like that.”

Grif’s smile is so wide he wonders if it’ll stay forever. “Then you need to show me the fireflies from your hometown.”

“Deal,” Simmons says, face soft. They shake on it.

This isn’t the end. It is the promise of a new beginning.

It starts to rain. They both laugh in shock. Grif doesn’t think he’s been so happy in a very, very long time. “Oh my god.” And for a moment, they’re just two uncharacteristically bubbly boys drenched in rain.

“I really want to kiss you,” Simmons says casually. Grif gets whiplash, looking at him with his mouth agape. Simmons slaps a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, did I say that out loud?” he squeaks, muffled.

“Did you mean it?” 

He’s silent and entirely red as the rain bears down on them. He won’t meet Grif’s eyes, focused entirely on the ground, unwavering. The rain sticks to his eyelashes and flattens his hair and soaks through his shirt and Grif feels it himself, too. 

It’s kind of how love is, maybe. It’s uncomfortable and messy and it’ll be a bother to fix later; it gets into every crevice and crack no matter how hard you try to keep it out, but it’s refreshing and brings life and it’s so worth it. The rain pours down. Grif, after years of running from thunderstorms, embraces it.

“Hey, Simms, look at me,” he speaks, gently. Slowly, Simmons meets his eyes. Grif wonders how he can feel this warm in pelting rain. “Did you mean it?” he asks once more.

Simmons tenses up. He releases the same way someone who has given up does. He nods, and his hand falls away from his face. He looks on the verge of tears. “Yes,” he says, barely there, nothing more than a trembling breath, but Grif hears it anyway. He always hears Simmons somehow.

“Do it then.” 

Simmons goes slack jawed. Grif can’t help but laugh, but then Simmons grabs his hand, and he shuts up. 

Simmons starts to lean in. Grif tries to meet him halfway.

He can see so many more freckles this close. He wants to count all of them. 

They’re so close now. They share oxygen the way they share company. 

It is still not close enough.

Grif is about to close the gap when he hears the sounds of an aircraft landing and Simmons jumps about 2 inches in the air.

“Are you _serious_?” Grif whines. Simmons grabs his hand again, intertwining their fingers, and gives him an empathetic smile. 

Grif loves him.

“You have nice eyes,” Simmons observes.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry as fuck!” Someone calls. Probably Tucker. Grif can’t be bothered to care.

“C’mon,” Simmons says and drags him gently to the craft. He offers no resistance. 

 

Warm from the inside out. Just like the moon from the Sun, or body heat, or listening to a particularly good song, or home, or falling in love.

Whatever it is, now that Grif has felt it, he’s never going back.

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! some notes:
> 
> • this is my first rvb fic so please be gentle with me. i love these boys 
> 
> • you can come scream to me about rvb on twitter.com/wlwadora if you’d like!! i have like 3 rvb mutuals so i don’t get to talk about it Nearly enough
> 
> • the title of the fic is from francis forever by mitski
> 
> • grif’s tattoo is daffodils!! 
> 
> • i don’t speak spanish or hawaiian so i am SOO sorry about the crappy translations lmao
> 
> thank you for reading my fic!!


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